April 19, 1992
by sockie1000
Summary: One day, four perspectives.  My take on what happened to Steve's mom.
1. Chapter 1

Title: April 19, 1992

Author: sockie1000

Summary: One day, four perspectives. My take on what happened to Steve's mom.

Author's note #1: Sorry it has been so long since I posted a story. The beginning of season 2 really threw me for a loop, as well as my muse. But recently, I've started to feel like the characters we know and love are coming back to us. It's about time.

Author's note #2: Thanks to Cokie316 and Rogue Tomato not only the beta, but for promising to send me nachos and diet coke if I would just write _something. _ Who knew junk food could be such an effective catalyst?

And thanks again to those of you who dropped me a PM during my absence, asking if I had anything in the works. Your encouragement really made me feel good and started me thinking about writing again.

Author's note #3: I'm easing back in, so this is a short story- only 4 parts. I'll post them fairly close together so we will be done in less than a week.

* * *

><p><em>April 19, 1992<em>

_5:47 p.m._

'

_Click-clack. Click –clack._

My heels sound incredibly loud on the marble floor as I walk as quickly as I dare across the State Capital.

_Calm down. Slow down. Nobody's looking at you_, I remind myself.

But I'm not sure that's the truth. I'm really not sure what, if anything, is the truth. Not anymore.

_Click- clack._

I glance around quickly. Sure enough, nobody is paying any attention to me, other than Mr. Hapu, who shines shoes in the lobby. I tell myself he's admiring my cute brown pumps. But I know he's looking at my legs, like he always does. And today, I am simply not in the mood.

I reach the heavy, ornate doors and push the right one open. The sunshine almost blinds me and I slip my sunglasses out of my purse and onto my face. Good. Now nobody can see the terror in my eyes.

I inhale the humid air deeply, trying to calm myself, as I walk along the sidewalk towards the street. The parking lot was full this morning, so I had to park a few blocks away. Normally, I wouldn't mind the walk. The weather in Hawaii is beautiful, after all. But today, the few blocks stretch out before me as if they were miles.

I see a pay phone on my right, just down a block, in front of Lau's deli. I could call John. I'm sure I have a quarter in my purse somewhere, probably buried beneath some Double-Mint gum wrappers and extra ponytail holders for Mary Ann. No matter what I do, her hair is always a mess. Her little blond curls are as stubborn just as she is.

I glance over my shoulder, then back at the phone booth one more time before dismissing the idea. I'm afraid someone is watching me, would see me. And would wonder why I would use a pay phone when I have a perfectly good phone in my office back in the Capital. The only thing I can do is go home, just like normal. John will be home soon. We'll send the kids outside and then I can tell him, in person. In private. Where no one can hear. Where no one can see.

I'm so lost in my thoughts I'm surprised when I see my car, just a half a block ahead. I start to dig through my purse, looking for my keys. I pull them out and manage to find the right one. I stop beside my car and my hand is shaking so badly it takes me a moment before I can slide the key in and turn. A reassuring click sounds, and I hurriedly open the door. I throw my purse across to the passenger seat and slide behind the wheel, quickly shutting and locking my door.

I grab the steering wheel like a life-line and just sit there for a moment, trying to calm my ragged nerves. Breathe. Just breathe.

And I try. Try to breathe. Try to calm myself down. _In. Out. Slower. That's it._

I look in my rear view mirror, back at the Capital building. At the sidewalk that connects me to the place I once thought stood for justice. That protected its citizens. That worked for the good of us all. Could it really only be six months ago that I thought that?

I shake my head. How naïve I was… I should have just stayed at home. With Mary Ann. And Steven. Things were so much easier then.

But, no, I wanted something more. The kids were growing up. They still needed their mom, granted, but they were both in school and the daytime hours at home wore on me. I didn't want to play Bunco on Tuesdays with the ladies on the block. I didn't want to be PTA president again. I wanted to serve my state. To work to improve Hawaii.

The common love of service is what first drew John and me to each other. Two kids at the University of Hawaii, serving on the student senate together. Our seats were across the aisle from each other, and I couldn't help but notice the tall, good-looking guy who spoke so passionately about the issues facing our campus. And, like Mr. Hapu, John couldn't help noticing my legs. Which, as it turns out, was a nice ice-breaker. We spent hours debating issues after the senate meetings were over, which turned into dinner dates to continue the discussions. The rest, as they say, is history.

I keep staring in my rear-view mirror. Nothing seems out of place. People are walking down the sidewalk, by my car, and across the Capital grounds just like every other day.

And it dawns on me. Nobody followed me. Nobody is trying to get me, to keep me from telling John what I found out today. Nobody is even looking in my direction. My hands stop shaking. My breathing evens out. I am so relieved I almost laugh.

I pick up the keys from my lap, where I dropped them when I got into the car. I find the right one and slide in into the ignition. I'll go home. I'll tell John. Tell him that it's so much worse than I imagined. Than either one of us imagined. And we'll figure it out. Together.

With one last glance at the Capital, I turn the ignition.

And my world explodes.

_to be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

_April 19, 1992_

_8:21 a.m. _

'

"Late night?"

"What?" I ask, looking up from my coffee mug and into the smiling face of my partner, Chin Ho Kelly.

"Did you have a late night?" he asks again, pulling out his chair and taking a seat at his worn, scratched-up desk, which directly faces mine.

I consider lying, but Chin Ho is too smart for that. And observant. It's one of the reasons I picked him for my partner, even though he's a rookie. He's been at work for all of two minutes this morning, and I'm sure he's already noticed the slight hunch of my shoulders and the bags under my eyes, not to mention my neglect of the sports page and preoccupation with my yet untouched coffee.

No, Chin Ho is too smart to buy a lie. But I really can't tell him the real reason why I was up late. Even though I'm not sure who I can trust in HPD, I'm sure I could trust Chin. But I don't want to put him at risk or take the chance that we might be overheard, that one misspoken word or a knowing glance could do us all in. No, I have to keep it to myself. Things are dangerous enough already. And for a cop to say that… well, that's saying something.

"Yeah, a little," I admit, before taking a sip of my now lukewarm coffee.

Chin grins. "I knew you'd stay up watching the game. I can't believe the Tigers pulled that one off. I thought the White Sox had them for sure."

I nod, thankful that I didn't have to come up with a plausible cover story. "Just goes to show you should never underestimate your opponent." Not in baseball, not in life, and certainly not in police work. Which is exactly what I told Mary a few weeks ago.

I never wanted her to get involved, to start investigating. "It's too dangerous," I told her. Especially for a civilian, even if she is a cop's wife. And a pretty decent shot, too. But she pleaded. Insisted. "Nobody will suspect a thing. I'm already in the job, John. I can't just ignore what I heard." And, truth be told, the cop in me had a hard time ignoring it, too.

After an hour of discussion, we finally reached an agreement. She would keep her eyes and ears open and pass along anything she learned to me. Then, we'd go over the information together at home at night. But under no circumstances was she to do anything out of the ordinary at work, nothing to arouse suspicion. If the choice was between getting information and standing out or remaining in the dark and appearing normal, she was to go for normal every time.

At first, she found it exciting. "It's just like playing Nancy Drew," she said. Playing Nancy Drew sounds safe, as if she would be solving mysteries from the safety and comfort of our living room. But we quickly realized what she has stumbled upon was far more serious than first anticipated. What appeared at first to be a simple misuse of power was blossoming into something much bigger. Bribery and money laundering, for starters. And the straightforward Nancy Drew mystery turned into a game of Clue, with too many suspects and far too many potential crimes. And I learned, first-hand, that it's hard to figure out what Professor Plum and Miss Scarlett are plotting, and to where the lead pipe and rope disappeared, when all you can really focus on is Mrs. White, sitting alone, and vulnerable, in the library.

I wanted Mary to get out weeks ago, to quit, but she convinced me she needed to stay. That our only hope of bringing them down was to get information. Inside information. Information that she was privy to only if she kept working. She dug in her heels, exhibiting her stubborn streak, and finally, I relented. We agreed she'd only stay long enough for me to get what HPD will need to press charges. Charges that would stick, and couldn't be weaseled out of by some smooth-talking, high-priced defense attorney. And once we have that, she'll get out that instant, and not one second later.

In the meantime, I worry about Mary. Morning, noon, and night. But especially late at night, long after Steven and Mary Ann are asleep and we've reviewed any findings she's had that day. In the darkness and stillness of the house, after we've crawled into bed and said our "good-nights", the weight of what we are investigating presses down on me, threatens to crush me, and the air is stifling, even with the window open to the cool, Hawaii breeze.

Neither one of us sleeps much anymore, but last night, she drifted off first. And as I lay there, in bed, watching her sleep, I wondered what we've gotten ourselves into.

And how much longer it will be before we can get back out.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

_April 19, 1992_

_1:27 p.m._

'

It isn't a call I want to make.

I tell myself that I have done everything possible, given Mary McGarrett every chance to back off, to stop being so curious. But she just kept at it.

I'm sure she thought she was being discreet. That nobody noticed what she was doing. Noticed the eyes that lingered on memos just a little too long at the copy machine, the ears that perked up anytime someone came into the office, the hands that filed documents too slowly. But I noticed. And I knew. Knew she was digging. That she was onto me.

I tried to make friends with her, throw her off-guard, and cause her to doubt her suspicions. Make her think that I was such a good person, she must be imagining things. So, I always asked her about her day and commented on the family pictures she keeps framed on her desk. I even exchanged a recipe with her once, even though I don't cook. And every time, she smiled and chatted back as if nothing was amiss. I have to hand it to her, she's a very good actress. But I'm a very good liar. And what is acting if not pretending, lying. And every liar has his or her tell. Even the good ones.

For Mary, it was wetting her lips. Whenever she put on a show, it was preceded for a second by a quick brush of her tongue over her bottom lip. Then she would spin her yarn, which was always logical, and act perfectly natural the whole time. She was good. So good, in fact, it took me a few months to catch on. She has so much talent, so much potential, it's going to be a shame to waste it. But really I don't have another choice.

I never wanted to be a PTA mom, never wanted to raise a family and bake cookies. I didn't even care about getting married. All I wanted was one thing. Power.

It was apparent from an early age that I wasn't like the other little girls. At recess, we would all run outside, grateful to be free of the classroom. The girls would head over the swings, where they would patiently wait for their turn to soar into the sky. And while they waited, they would talk. Talk about school gossip or a new flavor of lip gloss or how cute Paul McCartney was. I was never interested in talking to them or waiting for my turn. Instead, I headed straight for the boy's domain of the playground- the dirt mound.

King of the Hill was my type of game. Straightforward. Ruthless. And, most importantly, hierarchic. The king was in charge. And more days than not, I was king.

My goal in life never deviated. I still want to be king. And now after putting in the requisite years at college and a prestigious law firm, I am finally on my way. State representative for district 12 is a good start towards my ultimate goal. Governor of Hawaii.

So, as much as I dislike making the call, I have to do it. I can't let Mary McGarrett get in my way. And after today, she knows too much.

I saw what she tried to conceal- the flash of recognition in her eyes when she heard a name. She shouldn't have even been there. I was in a private meeting in my office. But she opened my door just at the wrong moment, unaware I had left instructions not to be disturbed. Even for a vote on the floor.

I could try to explain things to her, but she just wouldn't understand how things work. Her "do-gooder" streak is too wide. She wouldn't understand that sometimes you have to scratch a few backs. And then, in return, you get what you want. Money. Votes. And, most importantly, power.

I pick up the phone and dial the number. After two rings, it is answered.

"Yes?" says the voice on the other end of the line.

"I have a problem," I say.

"Does this problem have a name?" the voice asks.

"Mary McGarrett."

"And what is the nature of the problem with Mrs. McGarrett?"

"Mrs. McGarrett is…" I hesitate as I consider my reply. The next word I say could seal her fate.

I have crossed many boundaries that some people see as black and white, while I see them as grey. And it's never bothered me. I've never even really thought twice about it. But even I know this one is wrong.

I have been many things in my life. But I have never been a killer.

Until now.

Is that really what I want to be? Do I want to be someone who would end the life of a woman who only wants to love her family and serve her state? Whose only crime is being honest? Being good?

But I know our goals are mutually exclusive. And I know where her loyalties lie. If she lives, she "serves the state" by bringing me down. And I can't let that happen. Not now. Not ever.

I don't have a choice.

I take a deep breath and finish the sentence.

"Mrs. McGarrett is… disloyal."

And it's done.

"Understood," the voice says on the other end of the line before I hear a distinct _click_.

I slowly hang up the phone and look out the window. I'm not sure how it will happen, or where, but I know Mary McGarrett will not make it home tonight. It might be a car accident or a stray bullet that takes her out, but she has seen her family for the last time.

I watch the Hawaii State Flag as it waves in the wind outside my window in the Capital. Someday, I'll have that office in the corner with the Governor's seal on the wall.

And when the time comes, I hope it will be enough.

_to be continued..._


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: this is it, guys- the last part. (and, I suspect, the part most of you have been waiting for.) ;)

thanks for reading and especially reviewing!

* * *

><p><em>April 19, 1992<em>

_6:53 p.m._

_'_

_Ringggg. Ringggg. _ The doorbell.

I click off Wheel of Fortune and set the bag of potato chips down on the sofa beside me. Dad is in his study with the door closed, as usual, and Mary Ann is in her room, so I know I'm the only one who heard it ring. I stand up and wipe my greasy hands off on my jeans on my way to the door, hoping it's mom and that she's picked up dinner on the way home. I'm starving and potato chips only go so far.

I wonder why she's coming to the front door instead of going through the garage when I remember that yesterday she tripped and almost fell over the carburetor I left on the floor next to the Marquis. She's probably afraid of a repeat performance. I had hoped Dad would help me work on it today when he got home. But when I asked, he brushed me off again, saying "maybe tomorrow" and disappeared into his study.

Sometimes I wonder why he even bothered to buy it. Growing up, I heard stories about how great this one car was, a black 1974 Mercury Marquis. It was the first brand new car he ever bought and the way he smiled when he talked about it, you could see he loved it. And there are not that many things my dad loves.

He and mom had to sell it when I came along. They needed the cash because babies and diapers are expensive and cops only make so much money. I always kind of felt guilty that he had to sell it because of me. So, I was only slightly surprised when he came home with one a year ago. The thing could barely run and never moved again once it made it into our garage. But what did surprise me is what my dad told me next- that he bought the car for me, not him. That his favorite car would be my first car. And that we would fix it up together.

For a while, we did. We would spend hours in the garage, my dad showing me the ropes of how a car runs and how to fix it. I learned a lot about cars, but also a little about my dad. We had always had a bit of a hard time talking to each other and having the car there, between us, helped bridge the gap.

Then, slowly, our time together tapered off. Mom had started working again and I guess that stressed Dad out a bit. He didn't have as much time for me. And, eventually, he didn't have time for me at all. He spends all of his free time in his study, hunched over who knows what. When I asked him about it one day, he just said he was working on a case. What he didn't have to say was the case was more important than me.

When I open the door, I see two cops in their uniforms. I don't recognize them, but then again, I really don't know many of my dad's co-workers. But one look at their faces, and I know. I know my mom is not coming home.

Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.

I try to call to my dad, to let him know the police are here and that something's wrong, but my mouth is dry and my voice doesn't work. I see the taller of the two officers is talking. I can see his mouth moving, but I can't make out any of the words. The dull buzzing in my ears blocks out all the other sounds. After a moment, the cop's mouth stops moving and he gestures like he would like to come inside. I stand there for a minute, then numbly move to the side, letting them pass.

My dad has evidently heard them enter and wanders in from his study to see who is here. I look past the backs of the officers to my dad and watch as all the color drains from his face. I'm not sure if they said anything to him or not; the buzzing is still there. Or if he knew, by looking, just like me.

It all seems so surreal. How can my mom be gone?

Just this morning, I saw her. But did I really? My mind registered she was there, remembers her presence, her bustling about, talking to my dad and plating up breakfast before she disappeared down the hall to get Mary Ann ready for school. But did I even look at her, physically? Surely I did, but I can't remember what she was wearing. I was too busy reviewing for a chemistry test and eating bacon and toast to pay attention. Bacon and toast that she cooked. For me. This morning. The last time I saw her. Will ever see her. And I can't even remember what she was wearing.

I rack my brain trying to remember what, if anything, I said to her. Did I thank her for breakfast? Did I tell her to have a nice day? Did I even tell her goodbye? I'm shouting at myself now. _Find something!_ Find something to cling to. Something to remember. Something to tell me that my mom's last day on earth was not marked by my indifference.

Then I remember.

I was rinsing off my breakfast dishes and putting them in the dishwasher when she walked back into the house. She had just left for work but came back inside immediately because her car battery was dead. My dad said it was not a problem. She could take his car and drop him off at the precinct on her way and he'd catch a ride home. He left to get his car keys from the bedroom. As I closed the dishwasher, I looked up and my mom and I locked eyes for a moment. And she smiled at me. Not a normal everyday smile, but a mother's smile. A smile full of love and pride and acceptance all wrapped up in one look, as only a mom can do.

And, thankfully, I smiled back.

_fin_


End file.
